Dead Man's Diary
by EpicThoth3's
Summary: Today is Isabella's eighteenth birthday. She won't be celebrating it, of course. Why would she? Not after what happened five years ago. A short story that should make you cry, but leave you smiling, because hope is always at its strongest when life is at its worst. Cover image reads: "Give light, and the darkness shall disappear of itself." (Desiderius Erasmus)
1. Lifeless

**EpicThoth3 here, with a new story that should make you cry. If it does not you are heartless. It's called _Dead Man's Diary_ for a reason. Short chapters, first person POV, and extremely sad. This should be good.**

**P.S. The quote from the cover reads, 'Give light, and the darkness will disappear of itself.' (Desiderius Erasmus)**

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><p>Today is Isabella's eighteenth birthday. She won't be celebrating it, of course. Why would she? Not after what happened five years ago.<p>

I want to scream out that I'm right here, right outside her window, but I don't. She can't hear me. Nobody can. They can't see me, either. Or touch me. But I'm here. From this position on the street, I can see her looking out her bedroom window, at my house. Her eyes are red - she's been crying.

A car zooms by, passes right through me. I don't mind it. Over the last five years, I've grown used to it. Another of the many lasting effects of... whatever it was that happened on her thirteenth birthday. That event which changed our lives forever.

No, I can't tell you what happened that day, five years ago. I can't tell you because I'm not entirely sure myself. We all were having a great day up until it happened. It's like I just... _disappeared_ from the world entirely, left it without a trace.

But that's not what anyone would tell you. If you came to my town and asked about me, people would point to an oak tree, just like the one in my backyard.

But this one isn't in my backyard.

It's at the top of a hill.

In a cemetery.

They point you there because beneath it, a gravestone bears my name.

They point you there because they think I am dead.

But I'm not dead. I'm just... _lifeless_.

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><p><strong>If you were wondering, yes, this was my attempt at making a bipolar story. The kind that gets reviews like, 'I hate you. Write more.' If you leave a review like that, I will not blame you.<strong>


	2. Incomplete

**I think this will be the shortest chapter of the story. But it's a sad one, so get your tissues ready.**

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><p>As a tribute to my memory, they never—<em>never<em>—build anything fun or do anything awesome over the summer.

That's not quite true. They have fun—or at least they try—but never to the same standard set at thirteen. They say that projects like those are incomplete without me. That partaking in those endeavors without me is like being in an episode of _Pinhead Pierre _without Pinhead Pierre.

I hate it.

Remembering me by not continuing what I loved—what _they_ loved—is not remembering me at all.

I feel like they're trying to remember me by leaving behind every mark I made on their lives.

I bring this up not because I want to still be in their lives, or because I'm self-centered, but because they haven't smiled in five years. And if I was the only reason they ever smiled, then it is _definitely_ wrong for them to forget about me.

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><p><strong>Yeah, it's very out of character, but face it, who wouldn't be in this situation?<strong>

**~Review! If you please. (That's my new closure now.)**


	3. Happiness

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

**You know what? I'm going to try answering guest reviews in the story. Let's see how it goes. If I like it, I might start answering all reviews this way.**

**shadowstalker: That's only because it hasn't gotten sad yet.**

**Dreadwing216: Might I suggest reading the summary? "But leave you smiling," it says.**

**Guest: Don't worry. The saddest is yet to come.**

**O: No comment.**

**ILSHYBMLY: Might I recommend a box of tissues? And you're not the only person who feels "ILSHYBMLY" towards me.**

**Em: Is this more enough for you?**

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><p>I still remember the last time anyone was happy. It was Isabella's thirteenth birthday, and it was supposed to be the best day of her life. Indeed, it <em>was<em> the best day of her life, if not for one thing. And no small thing, either.

I remember I was already in her kitchen when she came downstairs, making pancakes. I had shaped eight of them into different letters, and arranged them to spell her name. Then I topped each one with whipped cream, and placed thirteen candles into the finished product.

I remember she was surprised to see me. Very surprised. But I also remember that while I was distracting her in the kitchen, Ferb and the others were sneaking into her bedroom and renovating that.

I remember that they had all insisted I be the one distracting her, though it wasn't until later that I found out why.

I remember suggesting that we go upstairs to her bedroom, and I remember Isabella's anxiety as we did. But I even more clearly remember her wide eyes and gigantic smile when she saw her bedroom, loaded floor to ceiling with birthday presents and boasting an entirely new look.

I still remember her look of amazement as she opened each of the different presents. I remember Baljeet got her a math book, Buford gave her a coupon book, and Ferb gave her a scrapbook filled with different pictures of me and her together throughout the years. But I didn't get her a book. I remember designing the renovation of her room, and also building her a small arsenal of new inventions.

But I can never remember what they all do. Isabella never uses them anymore.

I remember that we then took her to the park, where the Fireside Girls had organized and set up a birthday party for her.

I remember that Isabella looked overwhelmed by it all, even though she denied it when I asked her.

I remember that she later confessed that her only wish that day was for the rest of it to be just like the start, when she had eaten pancakes alone with me.

A wish that can never come true now, be it her birthday or any other day.

Little did I know that her smile when we brought out the cake, or her laugh when my voice cracked during the birthday song, was to be her last.

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><p><strong>What a haunting last sentence.<strong>

**Review! If you please.**


	4. Perfection

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

**Guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: I don't want to confirm anything for now, so [insert].**

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><p>After the party, we went to my backyard. Me, Isabella, Ferb, Baljeet, and Buford. The subject of discussion, naturally, was Isabella. How was her birthday so far? Had she been enjoying it? What was her favorite part? Did she like her presents?<p>

Isabella was more than happy to answer these questions, as she was more than happy on that day. Maybe that is why I remember it so well. I hope it is, because it is more likely not her happiness that I remember this day for.

It was never her happiness which that day is remembered for.

This day will always be remembered as the worst day in her life. As the worst day in everyone's life.

It was never supposed to be that way. Never.

I remember asking her, "What can I do to make your birthday perfect?"

"What are you willing to do?" she had asked.

"I'd be willing to do anything," I told her.

"Anything?" she inquired, her eyes shining with a glimmer of hope.

"Anything," I confirmed. "What wouldn't I do for you?"

And that was how my final conversation with Isabella ended.

The last thing I remember before life as I knew it changed forever was glimpsing a green ray out of the corner of my eye.

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><p><strong>~Review! If you please.<strong>


	5. Scarred

**Let's ignore the fact that EVERYONE is pointing fingers at Doofenshmirtz when it could just as easily be Rodney or Poofenplotz and answer some guest reviews...**

**shadowstalker: No comment.**

**Guest [1]: Okay. Here you go.**

**Dreadwing216: Okay. Here you go.**

**Guest [2]: No comment AND okay. Here you go.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

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><p>I don't remember the green ray hitting me. But what happened when it did will remain with me forever. There is nothing in the world more scarring than what I saw.<p>

I was waiting for Isabella to answer my question. I was not expecting her to gasp and scream, "Phineas!"

Nor was I expecting Ferb, Baljeet, and Buford to do the same.

I didn't feel any different, so I was left wondering what they were screaming about. I remember asking what the problem was.

Nobody answered me. It looked like they didn't even hear me.

Instead, they rushed over to my body, which had slumped over onto the ground. I found that weird, because I felt like I was still standing. I will never forget what I saw when I looked down.

Below me I saw my own body, lying limp on the floor. The face had gone pale, the skin looked cold, and the eyes were void of all color. There I lay, perfectly still, unmoving.

Lifeless.

A scary sight for anyone to see, much less the person whose body it was. To see myself in that state was scarring, and an image I will never forget, even if I spend the rest of eternity trapped in this shell.

Isabella ran over to my limp body and picked up, shaking it, begging me to wake up. The others were also there, right behind her. When I didn't awaken, she checked my pulse. She tried CPR and listened for a breath. Then she put her head on my chest and wept.

_"What wouldn't I do for you?"_ my last words had been.

She was, I discovered, about to ask me to become her boyfriend.

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><p><strong>So sad. We almost had Phinbella. Almost.<strong>

**~Review! If you please.**


	6. Unforgettable

**Let's take a dive here. Guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: Or something like that.**

**The-Snowy-Owl-13: Don't worry. It gets worse. Before long, I'll have you weeping.**

**ISLSHYBMHYN: I can live with that XD. Hopefully you'll BMLYN by the end of the story. I think you now what that means.**

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

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><p>The autopsy could not pronounce me dead.<p>

But the doctor could.

Nobody has ever been able to say with certainty what killed me, and I would argue that I am not even dead.

Not unless the afterlife is actually a curse to wander around for eternity.

Isabella's thirteenth birthday was bound to be unforgettable. But I had never imagined it to be remembered for what it is now.

Since then, a great many things have changed. None of them for the better.

They have given up creating, smiling, laughing, enjoying, having fun. It seems that their only purpose now is to sulk. I don't know what prompted this reaction. It should never have turned out like this.

Perry, I discovered, is a secret agent, but now treats his daily job like a strenuous chore which he would rather not get involved in.

Isabella, I also discovered, loves me. _Loved_ me, she would correct, if anyone brought it up. But after five years of thought, I can say for sure that the feeling is mutual.

Baljeet has not been his brainiac self since the accident, nor has Buford laid a finger on anyone.

Ferb has assumed the role of talker, but each word he says is now laced with emptiness.

Candace seems to have lost all enthusiasm for everything. The passion which she held an abundance of is now gone, replaced by an unbelieving pessimist.

All around me, I can see nothing but brokenness, lostness, and hopelessness. The ingenuity, joy, and eagerness which had been abound is now gone.

How was I the catalyst to all this? What have I done?

If only they knew I wasn't dead. But I have for five years tried telling them that. I can't.

I feel like Schrödinger's cat.

Dead _and_ alive.

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><p><strong>For those of you who haven't heard of Schrödinger's cat, look it up. Simply put, it's a paradox developed by some guy named Schrödinger where a cat is trapped in a box with a slowly killing poison, and since you don't know how long the poison takes to kill, the cat is dead and alive until the exact moment that you open the box to find out. Or something like that.<strong>

**~Review! If you please.**


	7. Vision

**Guest reviews!**

**Em: What? You're _thanking_ me for writing more to this?! I did not see that coming! Shrödinger's cat is pretty fun, though. And I'm glad you're crying (what did I just say?). **

**Shadowstalker: If you're wondering why Phineas is around stalking his old friends (though I wouldn't call it stalking), ask yourself where you would be if you weren't dead. And I agree: Phineas is the heart and soul of the show, but Phineas's friends and family are the heart and soul of Phineas. It just isn't the same without him. This story has no specified length as of yet; I'm still experimenting with how far short chapters can take me. It will almost certainly break the 20-chapter barrier, but I'm not sure about the 30.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

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><p>For five years I have been looking for a solution, hoping to lift the curse which has plagued me, my family, and my friends.<p>

I have found nothing.

The closest I have gotten to a clue is a certain Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz. He builds machines every day which often fire random green lasers. But he's just not wicked enough to come up with the green ray which did me in.

My friends have given up. It seems that without me, their life has no purpose.

"Never give up," I told them many times over. I thought they had taken that message to heart, when instead, they had affiliated it with my person. Therefore, without me, there is no pressing forward.

Why did they react this way?

"Summer belongs to you, and to everyone," I told them as well. Another of my core beliefs. Yet nowadays their summers are empty, devoid of all enjoyment. So strongly had they linked those ideals to me that now without me, my vision is meaningless. They treat it like a solemn duty to do nothing fun over the summer. I suppose to them, it is their solemn duty to do nothing fun.

I wish, just once, that they would build something—anything—for their enjoyment. Anything to make them smile.

To make me smile.

I had always hoped that my vision would transcend my being, that people would see my footprints and realize that they, too, could walk that same path. But everyone treats those footprints now like a minefield: never meant to be tread upon.

They are protecting my memory, not embracing it. And that is the worst way to honor the dead. Or the not dead.

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><p><strong>~Review! If you please.<strong>


	8. Lullaby

**I don't know if this should really count as a chapter in the story. It's really just me raging about an injustice in the real world that not enough people know about. And, while this is a specific example I give here, this sort of thing happens all the time in the ever-so-fickle entertainment industry. I don't like it one bit. So this chapter came to be.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb? Or the Academy Awards? Or the school to which the children go? Or to any other thing mentioned in this chapter which can actually be found in life?**

**Guest Reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: It emphasizes Phineas's sense of abandonment, and fast forwards the story five years.**

**Cupcake Killer3: Well, then. I don't want to spoil the ending, but may I refer you to this story's summary? Oh, and can you get me a scoop of mint chip while you're there?**

**Phineas A: No comment. That would spoil stuff.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: So much praise over Shrodinger's Cat! And you have to change your guest name to "LoveYouEpicThoth3's" now because I changed my pen name to make it funnier and more awkward for anyone mentioning me.**

**ISLSHYBIDEKN: Me neither...**

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><p>A few years ago, there was a true Hollywood miracle. A certain public school in New York, whose students were among of the poorest of the poor, developed a nationally recognized chorus, and were invited to perform at the Academy Awards. It was a beautiful moment, to see these fifth-graders who had never in their wildest dreams imagined <em>seeing<em> the red carpet, now walking the velvet pathway, singing in front of a tearful nation. Everyone agreed that they were great singers with a bright future ahead of them.

Not one of the many talented kids of that award-winning chorus were able to go to a middle school with a music program. Not one.

They had sung on the very highest level in fifth grade, but were immediately afterwards cut off from music entirely. One can only imagine the thoughts running through those children's minds right now. To be famous, and then to be nothing.

Is that not what happened to me?

Was I not the boy who traveled the world, only for the world to cut me off? Who ended a second ice age, only to be frozen out by a mental one?

The song those children performed at the Academy Awards was 'Over the Rainbow', a song all about how dreams can come true. Immediately afterwards their dreams were shattered.

How cruel life is!

There is a world out there to be seized, to be loved, to be enjoyed. But that only ever happens '_once in a lullaby_.'

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><p>'<strong>Once in a lullaby' are some of the lyrics from the song 'Over the Rainbow'. Those kids from PS22 in New York are starting high school this year. They've disappeared entirely ever since their famous performance. I call it "The Hometown Effect" because people who get a chance to be famous will more often then not end up back where they started, regardless of whether or not they did well.<strong>

**~Review! If you please.**


	9. Passionless

**I thought you readers deserved a prolonged period of non-sadness, so I waited to post this one.**

**Guest reviews!**

**Phineas A: It is something of a mystery, I guess. What really happened to Phineas? Will we find out? The answers it these questions and more will follow. Also, I called this story "Dead Man's Diary" because it is the transcription of the thoughts of a person in the afterlife. The diary of a dead man, if you so choose.**

**shadowstalker: Me too! Why do you think I wrote so much of this?**

**Dreadwing216: Might I refer you to the summary? Your hopes might be raised.**

**Guest: I'll have to look into it. He might have copied my idea. Or not.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: Did I mention how much I love your reviews? Well, I do. They even get a special mention on my profile page, and never fail to make me laugh. And it's okay to leave the '3' out. I'm pretty sure I am the only one whose username starts with 'EpicThoth'.**

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><p>Today I decide to follow Perry through his day, but mainly because I want to avoid everyone else. It breaks my heart to see them, today more than ever. On this, the fifth anniversary of my death, there will be no happiness within them.<p>

Nobody will wish Isabella a happy birthday today. They will simply remind her that she is a year older.

"Eighteen, huh?" they will ask. She will simply nod in response.

Or: "It's your birthday. Have... cake."

They go out of their way to avoid congratulating her. It's what she wants.

I don't belong in an environment so devoid of life, of excitement.

And even though Perry is now a cold, empty agent, missing all the passion which he must have had before, his day will be better than the alternative.

I know he's missing the passion because Doofenshmirtz complains of it.

"What happened to you?" he'll ask occasionally. "You used to be so much fun as a nemesis. Now you're just like a robot programmed to destroy me."

"I'll be your nemesis," Norm will occasionally interject, but Doofenshmirtz shrugs him off, saying, "You couldn't teach a vampire to suck your blood."

But even though Perry is passionless, heartless, I will follow him. So I sulk over to where the platypus lies now, waiting for him to start moving.

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><p><strong>If it feels like—gah! I keep typing lime there!—anyways, if it feels like this story is dragging on and on without going anywhere, note that at my normal preferred length we would just be getting into chapter two. So don't worry. The plot is coming, and soon.<strong>

**~Review! If you please.**


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